Inside at Last
by Roguie
Summary: A momentary look into Max's mind as Christmas approaches. Full of general sarcasm, sappy shippery stuff, and Christmas miracles. Rating for Language only. M/L of course. :)


A/N: Oh, boy, peeps, this story is totally not my normal stuff, but for some reason the spirit of the season is making me a mush pot, and I couldn't resist a bit of pure, unbelieveable fluff. So, technically it can't happen. So, scientifically it's impossible. So, I'm a big baby who's still having fits over this season and for one single second I would like Max and Logan to be happy.  
  
Hate it, love it, whatever. I'm the first to admit it's not my best work, but it's Christmas and I'm allowed to be a ball of romantic goo for one night.  
  
They're not mine, I just like to borrow them sometimes and mutate their inner voices. What can I say? It's fun. James Cameron still owns all the good stuff... no matter what he's let happen to M/L 2nd season.  
  
  
Inside At Last  
  
  
By: Danae Bowen  
  
  
Email: logansfox@rogers.com  
  
  
  
Happy people, doing happy things, living moderately happy lives. I used to be like the little match girl, or whoever that was, staring through fire lit windows, watching the warm, sappy families doing warm sappy things, hating them more and more each second I got closer to frostbite.  
  
I stopped staring in those windows years ago, back when I realized I didn't give a damn anymore. It wasn't like I believed in Christmas miracles anyway. Some magic fairy wasn't going to float outta the sky, say abracadabra, and make people who genuinely loved me appear to take me away. Okay, so that wasn't a Christmas story, but I don't believe in Santa either, so what does it matter? Either way, I never had a Christmas tree, or presents, or love, or miracles. Kinda explains why I don't believe in 'em, doesn't it?  
  
But today Cindy is trippin', Logan is giving me those "c'mon Max" puppy dog eyes, and I'm going to cut down some poor defenseless tree that's gonna take up too much space in my too small apartment and never get lit anyway since lately we only seem to get our hydro going every other day. Besides, who has the money to throw away on little light bulbs for a stupid, dying tree? Which by the way I'm not cleaning up after; Cindy wants it, Cindy can chase the pine needles around with a broom. I wasn't built for domestic duties.  
  
God, what is it about Logan and that exosuit? Ever since I got back, he's just been a one man army: jumping in here, barely hauling his ass out there, and today he wants to heft around some stupid heavy-as-hell axe when he knows I could carry it with a quarter of the effort. Must be a guy thing. Whatever; he can carry the axe, he can drive his truck, and he can be the big, manly man that kills the bad tree. What'm I here for? Well, someone's gotta carry the carcass back to the truck when he's done. Not to mention the tree.  
  
So, here we go, three great adventurers searching for the perfect, most beautiful piece of nature, all for the purpose of hacking the shit outta it, stuffing it in a dark room till it dies, and then pitching it in the trash.  
  
Now Logan thinks he's being funny, even though I can't quite smother my cry of surprise as the icy snow begins to drip down my shirt. He's starting a snowball fight with a genetically engineered killing machine? He really does have a death wish. I had heard that suicide rates nearly triple around Christmas; Logan's just my own personal example, I guess.  
  
I'd fight back, but I'm not really in the mood. I just want to get this bitch over with, go back to my place, soak in a long, hot bath, and forget Logan Cale even exists. But that's an impossible miracle, too, isn't it? 'Cause as soon as the thought forms, Cindy 'n Logan see the tree they want, and Cindy, of course, has to blurt out, "Lord, boo, that's a damn fine tree! Don't think me 'n you gotta chance dressin' up that bitch. Hey, Logan! You wanna stay'n help out two gorgeous girls? You can brag 'bout it t'all yer peeps." Of course, Logan laughs and accepts, but what did I expect?  
  
I stand back for a few minutes, watching Logan be a manly man, and I gotta admit, even under that fine, black turtleneck of his, I can see those muscles rippling. Big muscles. Strong from a year and a half of physical therapy and pushing himself around in that chair. My insides turn into those jelly cubes that old Cosby man was always pushing, and I can't help but shiver as desire pools, hot, in my body. Finally, I can't take watching him any more and I grab the axe away, ignoring his protests. Well, can you really blame me? Some Manticore freak knocks me up with a killer bug so I can't touch Logan at all, ever, and I gotta stand here watching him get all sexy and sweaty without jumping him? Screw that.  
  
In seconds it's done. I grab the tree with both hands and begin hauling it back to the truck, pretending I don't hear Cindy's comments about my lack of Christmas spirit. Logan offers his help, and it takes only a few awkward moments after he slips back into his winter jacket and braces himself for the impending lift before we have the tree tied to the top of the Aztec and are on our way once more.   
  
I try to look uninterested as Cindy and Logan chat about their Christmas plans. My eyebrows raise in mild surprise as Logan mentions a Christmas Eve family gathering he's been requested to attend. I try not to look hurt as Cindy says she's going to spend the holidays with her mom, as soon as Normal decides to let us know which of us will be working Christmas Eve. Twenty four hours to go and he still hasn't posted the list, but I guess we should be grateful he's only running Jam Pony at fifty percent on Christmas Eve, and is actually gonna close on Christmas Day. That's still fifty percent of my friends that gotta work and though I may not care, a lota peeps I know have families, and this holiday means something to them, so I volunteered to go in. What the hell, doesn't look like I'd have anyone to spend it with anyway.  
  
Okay, so after the bitch of a fight that tree put up getting it into the apartment, it is kinda fun watching Cindy and Logan decorate it. I smother my laughter as Logan gets tangled up in a popcorn string and ends up with kernels stuck in his hair and beard. He's a good sport about it, of course, and hey, at least he doesn't end up on his ass when the chair breaks and he falls backwards. Instead, he ends up on me and I freak a little thinking I touched him skin to skin, but he shrugs me off, and winks.   
  
"What's a little virus between friends?" He asks, making me want to kick him, but since nothing happened beyond my hormones kicking into overdrive and the urge to say fuck the virus and kiss him until we're both breathless, I let it pass.  
  
Finally, the tree is finished and Cindy 'n me crash back on the sofa while Logan settles into a chair. We have hot chocolate that Cindy scored from somewhere unknown, and Logan starts telling us some made up story about the birth of Christ. For the first time in a while I don't feel like ruining things with my disbelief. I like being here with my best friends, love listening to Logan's soft voice and Cindy's laughter as the candles they placed on the tree light our darkened home.  
  
I'm almost surprised to find myself not on the outside looking in, but right here in the warm flickering light, only feet away from the man I love, curled up against my best friend. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm not converted; next year I'm gonna be just as miserable, but maybe it'll do them some good if I throw back a snowball or two.  
  
I look up, surprised, drawn out of my thoughts as Logan gets to his feet. "We forgot something."  
  
I frown, wondering what could be in the box he pulls out of the pocket of his forgotten jacket.  
  
"This is for you, Max."  
  
I smile a little uncertainly and reach out, careful not to touch him. I open the box and stare down at the fragile figure with dark, curly hair, framed by wings of gold. "Uh, thanks," I mutter, not sure what it's for.  
  
"C'mere."  
  
He slips on his thick leather gloves and beckons me towards him, turning me so that my back is pressed up against his chest. I yelp when he reaches for my waist, lifting me suddenly into the air.  
  
"She belongs on top," he murmurs, quietly. "So she can watch over you, protect you, and teach you to remember."  
  
"Remember what?" My voice is a little shaky as I reach over and place the angel on the tree, and Logan lowers me to the ground once more, turning me to face him.  
  
"Remember love."  
  
Before I can move, he kisses me. My body betrays me and I respond for a second, losing myself in the feel of his warm, soft lips against my own. My brain kicks in a moment later and I shove him away. I'm grateful that he lands on the sofa, but furious too.  
  
"Why, Logan?" I can't stop the tears from flooding down my face as I stare at him, expecting him to fall to the floor.  
  
Instead, he smiles at me. "Because I believe in Christmas miracles, even if you don't."  
  
I sink to my knees, fear causing me to shake violently, but my hand comes up to prevent Cindy from taking me into her arms. Logan is still watching me, that knowing little smile making his eyes twinkle as I force my body to relax.  
  
For whatever reason, he's not getting sick, and my eyes trail up to the angel watching us from above.  
  
Remember love, Logan says.  
  
How can I remember what I'm only just learning?  
  
I sigh. I don't believe in miracles, but Logan kissed me and he's still kickin'. We don't know what was in that antigen of Renfro's, or how the virus may have mutated in the past months, so there's probably a perfectly reasonable scientific explanation for it all that doesn't involve God, angels, or Christmas at all. But Logan is right about one thing; it is fun to be offered the chance at belief now and then.  
  
I throw a pillow across the room, raising an eyebrow as it bounces off Logan's nose, and I climb to my feet. Logan's alive, so there's no sense dwelling, and I force myself to shake off the fear that is still sending tremors through my body. "You two can sit and believe all you want, I'm taking a bath."  
  
"Hey, Max?"  
  
I stop and turn, my heart catching in my throat as I'm suddenly lost in the crystal depths of his sparkling blue eyes that no longer seem quite that far away.  
  
"Merry Christmas."  
  
"Whatever," I mumble, and begin pulling out the pots to boil my water. When I look up again, he's still smiling and I know he understands.  
  
Damn. So much for playing the bitch. How the hell do you do happy again? Oh, yeah.  
  
I smile back.  
  
End. 


End file.
